Esquestria: The House of the Sun - A pony cultist experience

A/N-1: The voting for the previous threadmark (results from the Tall Tale assault) is still ongoing, and will continue even through/after this update.
A/N-2: But what about the second vote-heavy update?


You breathe in.

And you breathe out.

Breathe in.

And then out.

In.

Out.

…

This last month was… strange. It was unusually long, it felt unusually short, and as is usually the case you are also sure it was exactly the same length as every other month in your life.

And yet, throughout that entire time, you were also under this impending sense of inevitability.

Maybe the month was long because you were unusually busy. The Bureau was involved in something particularly important, to which you even dedicated some of your personal time.

Maybe this month felt short because, despite all your mortal concerns, you still knew that this day would arrive.

And maybe this month felt like any other because, in the end, you knew you could just… cancel this, at any time. One word from you, heavens even a moment of internal hesitation, would have been enough for this day to be postponed. Postponed, or completely canceled.

But none of that ever happened.

None of that happened, and the days kept galloping on, one after the other. And the matters of the Bureau are still ongoing, back in Canterlot. And the matters of your family are still happening, back at your home.

And you are here.

With him.

With Biedde.



"The rules of this assessment are quite simple."



He speaks with a matter-of-factly tone. His words so casual that he might as well be making small talk.

And he does not look at you, either. In fact, the old stallion is currently busy taking off his long coat and folding it on the ground next to him.



"You will come to me, and we will fight. We will fight until you are sufficiently broken, or until you bleed me. You are not permitted to back down until you are dismissed, and you may use any tools at your disposal."



This must be the first time you see the old stallion without his coat. And sure enough, he looks… old.

He looks old, but in the way that a tree looks old. His body is gnarled and covered in scars, but not in a way that stops him from moving. He has all of his limbs, which surprises you a little, but the thinness of his legs does not betray the solidity of his muscles.

Maybe once, he was built like a statue. Maybe once he was perhaps beautiful, the same way a marble depiction of "the ideal pony" would be beautiful. That is, until a sculptor challenged himself to see how much more of the statue he could carve off, without it crumbling under its own weight.

The bald spot he has at the very top of his head, visible once he takes off his cap, almost makes him look like a kindly and caring grandfather.

That is, until his eyes, cold and knowing as only his eyes can be, look back towards you.



"Cheating is also inadvisable. I will not take offense if you do. But to be frank, if you cheat and succeed, you will not survive what happens next."



He says that, and once again you are reminded of why you are doing this to begin with.

You are reminded of why, tonight, you two are in the middle of the fields of your family's estate. Away from prying eyes and the obstacles of civilization, preparing to fight each other.

You are reminded of why you, a mortal, even considered challenging him.

You are doing this for power. You are doing this because you cannot afford not to.

You are doing this because, if you succeed, Biedde will offer you Sacrament in the Lore of Edge.

So, you answer his unspoken question with a short nod.

And just like that, you begin the most dangerous dance of your life.



[Velvet Covers has challenged Biedde to a duel]

[Biedde, the Name of Edge, accepts]



You let out the breath you were holding.

You narrow your focus. You block out anything that isn't the stallion in front of you.

Your surroundings no longer matter. Interruptions no longer matter. If this were a real fight, perhaps you would have the mind to think about those things. But this, you know, is an assessment.

He has made it very clear that he wishes to test you, not to kill you.

Even if a test from him is a knife's edge away from being lethal.

With that in mind, you circle the stallion.

Biedde is standing at the very center of an empty field. And you are currently several paces away from him. So, you begin to walk around him, keeping your distance.

The stallion does not move, of course. And the reason for that is obvious.

It does not matter from what direction you attack him. There are no flaws in his defense.

So, you breathe in, and you make your approach.






"There was once a tribe of reavers who had a tradition," Biedde says, as you make your approach.

You approach him from his front, looking him in the eyes as you do so. Your pace is steady, as you would not dare to gallop towards him or try to charge him.

Still, you approach him from his front, simply because you have no idea of how he would respond if you came from another angle.

At least from the front, you know he will use his forelegs, and maybe his head.

At least from this angle, you can pretend you know what to expect.

"Their tradition was that once they drew a blade, that blade could only be sheathed if it tasted blood. Or, in the alternative, if it was used to prepare their young for battle," he continues.

You are now two steps away from him, just outside the range of his hoofs.

It terrifies you that, so far, you only dared come this close because he told you that he would not come to you.

And it terrifies you even more that, you know, you will not be dismissed until you come even closer out of your own volition. One way or the other.

"They were decimated, killed to their last, by another tribe who had no such limitation when it came to their young," he finished.

And then, you lunge towards him.



!!!!!



You kick with your hindlegs, the movement sharp and sudden. Both of your forelegs raised and ready to punch towards the stallion.

Biedde does not blink, he barely even reacts.

In fact, you dare say that he scarcely moves at all.

Your movement is quick, but his are quicker. And on the next moment, his right hoof is raised, just casually nudging one of your hoofs to the side.

But his hoofs, you know, are as sharp as spears, and your momentum is still ongoing. So, with that one movement of his, he already shoved one of your hoofs away from his body, and his own hoof is now aimed straight at your chest. If you don't do anything, you will simply impale your chest on his foreleg. And you would be a fool to think that it would not skewer you alive.

However, you dare say that you already expected that. And your blows were not aimed at his chest or his face. Instead, you were always aiming at the empty space between you two, where you knew he would try to block you.

And sure enough, your other foreleg continues its punching arc and hits his outstretched hoof. Just enough for his impaling hoof to be aimed at the side of your body, rather than towards your heart.

Less than a tenth of a second has passed so far, and your two forelegs have already been committed to stopping one of his hoofs from impaling you, and nothing else.

Still, you only need to bleed him, and you never expected to be able to wound a limb as battered as one of his forelegs.

And true to your initial plan, your momentum continues to carry you forward, and you continue to angle your face downwards as your lunge pushes you.

Your horn, you know, is also aimed straight at his face. At his face, and at his neck, and at any part of him you can so much scratch for a drop of his blood-



!!!!!!



-but on the next moment, the old stallion is no longer in front of you. His entire body, somehow, is now underneath you.

And as if to make a point, he headbutts you on the side of your chest. He headbutts you with as much eloquence as if he was shaking his head to answer a question, but that movement from his oak-hard body is more than enough to send you flying.

You roll on the ground, hard, feeling a metallic taste on your mouth as you do so.

And when you finally come back to your senses, you realize that… well, you realize that you have no idea of what he just did, or how he did it.

But as you look back towards him, you watch as he calmly steps back on his initial spot. Planting his four hoofs on the same spot they were when this "assessment" began.

"It is impossible to teach your young without drawing their blood," he remarks casually, patting one of his cheeks with a hoof to brush off some of your bloodied fur that stuck to him. "Again."

He says that, true to his command, and you realize that you have no choice but to try again.






Something inside of you boils in anger. Something inside of you yells that doing this, playing by his rules and making this a display of skill, is the wrong answer.

Something inside of you yearns to simply charge him. Make this a display of strength against experience.

But you smother that voice out.

You barely have the skill to challenge him, and you certainly do not have the strength.

So, you have no choice but to dance to his tune and continue this.

Once again, you approach the old stallion.

This time you do it from his left side, if only because you tell yourself that having a larger surface area to work with could give you more chances to bleed him.

And the stallion entertains you.



!!!



You once again lunge at him, one foreleg outstretched as you give it your best shot to at least land a blow on him.



!



And the stallion lets you land a blow.

But even that almost shatters your will to fight.

Because your hoof lands on his side, yes. Your horseshoe strikes against him with all the strength and lethality you can muster.

And all you hear in response is the hard, almost hollow sound of metal striking against wood, or perhaps something else that is old and so very sturdy.

Your blow lands, but it does not wound him. It does not even disturb any of his many scars.

Still the stallion does not react. Not with words, at least.

Part of you expected a disappointed tsk to come from his lips. Or something like a disapproving shake of his head, before he calmly walked out of your range and challenged you to try again.

But old Biedde, true to his beliefs, does neither of those things.

Instead, he reacts in the only way he knows: he springs his trap.

Because ah, Biedde is very old in the ways of violence, and he knows that even his body and safety are currencies to be spent. Spent, not wasted.

And right now, you have one outstretched hoof touching his body, fully committed to the movement and well within his range. And the rest of your body is currently mid-lunge, with the entire momentum of your advance aimed squarely at the side of his chest.



!!!!!!



This time, you can see what he does.

Biedde rolls, once again placing his body underneath you. His four legs facing upwards towards you.

But this time, he does not push you away. Instead, his vice-like legs grab at you. All the while without breaking stride of his tempestuous rolling.

And on the next moment, you are underneath him. Your whole body squarely within the cage created by his four legs.

That movement alone, that violent shift of having your entire body carried and slammed against the ground, hurt. More than that, it clearly wounded you, even if not enough for the old stallion to stop.

Still, true as an arrow and certain as death itself, you watch in terror as the old stallion raises one of his legs.

And before you have time to blink, he brings it down like a guillotine towards you.






Biedde's hoof, from his right foreleg, falls down like a guillotine.

It is aimed straight at your neck. A decapitating move that, you know, will kill you.

This is not a matter of whether it can kill you. No. You are certain that this will kill you.

And without conscious thought, without you even telling your body to do so, your two forelegs jump up in response.

You do not try to strike back at him. You don't even aim at his body. The rules of this challenge don't even register in your mind right now.

All that matters is that he is going to kill you and you are going to die and you have to stop that no matter the cost.

His hoof fall. Your two hoofs shoot up, trying to block it.

But of course, your hoofs are just too slow, so all your hoofs can do is scrape at his foreleg as it crashes down towards your neck.



!!!!!-



But somehow… somehow, maddeningly, his hoof stops.

His hoof stops. It has reached your neck, but it has stopped. You can feel it pushing against your jugular like an anvil, but it has stopped. You were a fraction of a moment away from being decapitated, but it stopped.

The hoof pressing down against your throat is so strong that you can't even breathe. And you swear that your eyes must be bulging out of your face.

However, as you look up and away from the hoof of your killer, towards the rest of his body, you realize that…

… you realize that the two hoofs you have, holding on to his foreleg, are tinged with the impossible red of blood. Your hoofs, it seem, having somehow scrapped enough of his coat to draw blood, barely enough for a drop.

But blooded him you have.

And that, apparently, was enough for the stallion to stop his… "assessment."

Moments later, to your absolute relief, the hoof retreats from your neck, and you draw in a long and thankful breath.

Your body hurts, you are pretty sure at least one of your ribs is broken from where he headbutted you, and several other parts of your body ache.

But you…

You…

But this is done.

And now, you discover what happens next.

"Very well," the old stallion says. Inspecting his bruised foreleg as if studying from a book. "This seems to be sufficient. You are dismissed."

He then makes his way towards his clothes, calmly unfolding his coat in order to put it back on.

"Meet me in the Mansus," he finishes.

And before long, you are back home, on your bed, and doing your best to ignore your pain as you prepare to Dream.



- - -



The Climb is harrowing. Crossing the Red Church is punishing. And you swear that you are assailed by terrors that are as real as they are imagined, as you wonder what the old stallion has in store for you.

But you know Biedde is a pony who keeps to his word, terrifying as it may be.

So, you Dream, and you Climb, and you make your way towards that old and dreadful place where the soldier stands guard.

And there, you find him.






He says that as soon as you see him, on that broken slab of Mansus-stone that oversees that impossibly damned prison.

And then, the impossible happens.

Old Biedde, the last soldier of the Colonel, steps away from his position.

He does not look at you. Not for a moment does he take his eyes away from his charge.

But to your surprise, and to your horror, his staunch and unbreakable back is no longer imposing itself between you and that pit of pits.

And what is worse, the old creature gives you a command that you cannot defy.






That is all he says.

And although you have never heard that name in your life, and you were never educated on the dreadful implications it carries, you pass by the stallion, and you begin your descent into the Worm Museum.



- - -



…

…

…

This place is outside the Mansus, for safety, but also within it, for security.

This place has remained untouched and unbothered, despite the destruction that visited the House of the Sun, because its continuance was simply that important.

This place is not dead. Not exactly. But a part of you already knows it will never stop dying.

This place knew the touch of the worms. And it knows the touch of the worms. And it will never stop knowing the touch of the worms.

…

…

…

However…

However.

However.

There is another reason why Biedde ordered you to enter.

There is no light within this place, but there is no darkness either. This place is not lit by lanterns of black nephrite, but it is not touched by Glory either.

Still, for all that this place has not known destruction, it has known damage.

In fact, evidence of it is all around you.

You see broken doors, even if they lead to rooms with unbroken cages (that you dare not look, for the sight might infect you).

You see collapsed tunnels, even though you realize there is always another way towards the exit (for even Them would not dare trap Themselves in here).

You see dented walls, with marks that are just one scrap away from being a cursed sigil, and you see upturned floors, as if the very foundation of this place had been hastily used as cover (for nothing is beyond being used as a weapon).

But most of all you see… you see the signs.

You see the signs, and you see the marks, and you see the evidence of it.

A great battle was waged in this place.

And you do not see any evidence that this battle has ever ended.

Yes, you are sure of it.

Biedde's master is in this place. An Hour, for only an Hour could keep a Name within its grip, still stalks this corridors.

And at this very moment it is still stalking its prey. This soldier of soldiers, this killer of killers, is still here, and the battle that so damaged these halls is still ongoing.

It is still ongoing to this very day, to this very moment. Even though it began when the Mansus cracked and broke, or perhaps even before that.

This is what Biedde wanted you to do. This is the Sacrament Biedde had to offer you. To meet his own mentor and lord, and to be taught and marked and dragged into his service.

The very thought, of becoming like Biedde and being bound to a living Hour, terrifies you.

And yet, you cannot help but continue to put one hoof after the other.

…

You continue to make your way deeper into this place, this tomb and battlefield both. You continue to follow the increasingly violent and careful signs of struggle.

Until finally, finally, you reach an atrium… You reach a room that is so dark, so heavy with the weight of Edge and cunning that you are sure that… that you are absolutely sure that right there, on that deepest of shadows, awaits-



"Whoat here little filly, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"AHH!"



-your fur nearly jumps out of your skin as a voice suddenly comes out of absolutely nowhere.

And it takes you several long, humiliating moments to realize that the other sound you just heard was of you yelling in surprise.

"Pfff… ahahahaa… AHAHAHAHAHAH, oh boy that was hilarious. Calm down, calm down. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you, probably."

For all that this is a dream you can hear your heart hammering inside your chest.

Still, you quickly confirm that you are not insane, and that you are not having a terror-induced hallucination due to your surroundings.

And when you turn to face the source of that voice, you see…

… a stallion.

No, not just that. You see an absolute monster of a stallion.

He is not pony-sized, he is horse-large. Taller than a Princess, and perhaps taller than Mareinette. But unlike the Princesses' gracious slenderness, and unlike Mareinette's bony silhouette, this stallion has a body full of muscles behind his stature.

He is broad-shouldered, thick-coated, and with a long mane that carries itself like a mohawk all the way to the middle of his back.

However, his most unusual trait is definitely in his mouth. Specifically, he has two very long (and very pointy) fangs pointed downwards from his mouth. Not unlike a great feral cat from ancient times, if the skeletons you saw in museums are anything to go by.

Still, despite all of that… despite his size, and his strangeness, and the very fact that you are deep inside this horrifying place of the Mansus, the stallion looks…

He does not look unkind. In fact, he looks well-humored. Perhaps even jovial.

And what was that about him calling you a little filly?

"I… I beg your pardon?" you ask.

To which the stallion finally stops laughing (he was indeed guffawing this whole time), and cleans away an eyedrop before looking back (and down) at you.

"Oh, sorry, sorry. I meant to say that… gosh, it has been so long since I spoke to somepony. But anyhow, I was going to say I wouldn't go there if I was you," he says, very casually.

"And by there you mean…?" you ask, cautiously looking at that deep, dark shadow you were previously walking towards.

You are currently inside a particularly large (and dark) hall of this tomb-like place. Thankfully, there are no cages or monsters in sight. And in fact, given how many collapsed passages you see all around you, you suppose this was a central hall of sorts. Or perhaps a place where several paths connected, each leading to a different section of this place.

But right now, this place is empty. It is empty, save for you and the… strangely humorous and large stallion. And everywhere you look you see nothing but shadows and blackness.

You also notice that… well, the stallion himself is standing exactly on the threshold of one of the unbroken passageways. Almost as if he was standing there exclusively to block that particular door.

"I mean there, that shadow over there," he says, pointing at the strangely intimidating corner of the hall. "That place you were walking towards? The one where that FUCKING COWARD is waiting?" he says.

Although he yells those two words with such intensity, and no small amount of mockery, that you can't help but think he isn't just talking to you.

No, you are sure he isn't just talking to you. Because when he yelled those two words, you saw him look straight at that shadowy corner.

"Because I know he's there waiting. Or maybe that's what he wants me to think. Still, doesn't matter. I ain't moving from this here place, no siree," the stallion finishes, with a self-satisfied nod.

And you…

You have no idea what is going on? Although it is plainly obvious you just walked into something.

"And… and who exactly is…?" you start asking, but your confusion causes you to trail off. "I'm sorry, why exactly shouldn't I go there? And what would happen if I did?"

You ask that, and you don't even try to hide your internal turmoil, because something tells you the large stallion is simply too honest to bother with any sort of misdirection.

"I mean, isn't it obvious?" he asks. But then, as he looks at your expression for a few more seconds, something finally dawns on him. "Oh… you're telling me it's not obvious? Hang on, how long has it been since…"

The stallion says that, but he doesn't bother to wait for an answer. Instead, he raises a hoof towards his mohawk-mane, and you think he starts counting the strands with the tip of his hoof.

Sure enough, you hear a quiet "onetwothreefourfive…" under his breath as he works through his fur.

That is, until he stops and shakes his head with what you can only describe as confusion.

"Oh shit it has been a while. Damn this fucker is patient. And the fact you are here means that…"

He shakes his head, letting out a short neigh as he does.

And then, he once again focuses his attention on you.

"Alright little filly, hear me out. I have no idea how things look like out there. But if you walk into that there shadow? Well, then the fucker will mark you as one of his own, and that will be that."

"And by the… fucker, you mean…?" you ask, tentatively.

And if the frown the stallion gives you is anything to go by, then he really must be surprised by how long it has been since, apparently, somepony entered this place.

Still, you can tell his frown is not directed at you. And in all honesty, given his size and your current surroundings, you can't help but warm up a little at how kind he is being to you.

"I mean the fucker? The coward-in-charge? The loser-general? The golden shit? The Colonel?" he says, directing another glare at the darkness of the hall. "Listen, I… I'll give it to you straight, little filly. Biedde is stuck out there to stop anything nasty from leaving, and I am stuck in here to stop Him from crossing this door. And between the two of us, we are the last pieces our respective sides had on the board."

You feel something, something quiet, stalk around the hall.

But the large stallion seems entirely unintimidated as he continues to speak.

"And if you are here, it means Biedde let you in," he says, letting out a dark chuckle as he speaks about the Name. "Biedde lets you in, because if his boss conscripts him he gains another piece on the board. And that might finally tip a scale that has been left untipped for a very long time."

He tells you that, and then he explains to you his… predicament.

"The name is Smiles, by the way. Or rather, this Name is Smiles," he says, as if telling a joke. "Pleasure to meet you, little filly."

Smiles, from what you gathered, is somewhat aware of the current state of the Mansus. You have not yet met a Name that is as honest and straightforward as he is, but you quickly realize that there is a reason for his honesty.

He tells you all of that because, by his own reckoning, he has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Because the one that Biedde serves and the one that Smiles serve have been locked in battle since the Mansus began to crack. Something happened, something that Smiles does not gets into details about, that turned their cold war into an outright brawl.

And their lords battled through the Mansus, and then they battled through the Wake by means of their servants, and then they ended up in here.

"And here is the thing about my Lord: He will never stop growing stronger. And here is the thing about Biedde's shitstain of a boss: he can be very crafty. So, if the sucker gets a jump on my Lord, he will certainly kill him. But if my Lord has enough time to get stronger, he will one day be strong enough to punch his way out of his place, and then crush all of it under his hoof."

That was why Smiles was standing on that doorway.

Because Biedde's Lord, it seems, is currently waiting somewhere in this hall.

And Smiles' Lord is somewhere else in the Museum, somewhere that can only be accessed by passing Smiles, growing stronger and stronger still.

If He strikes Smiles, He will lose his cover, and Smiles' Lord will win the day. Or so the Name professes.

But on the other hoof…

"… that old fart is still out there. And he gets first picks on whoever passes him by. And like any servant of the Colonel, he is doing the only thing he is good for. He is raising an army. He is raising an army, and if you made it this far you are the first on his list of conscripts. All so that one day he has enough servants, Long or otherwise, to storm this place and kill little old me, so his boss can then hunt down my Lord without losing the element of surprise."

He says that, and all of a sudden you understand… everything.

You understand what makes Biedde ticks. You understand his motivation.

And most importantly, you understand exactly what he intended, when he offered you this "opportunity" for a Sacrament.

And you trust Smiles. You know he is telling the truth because, despite his good humor and sincerity, you can also tell that he hates Biedde. He hates him more than anything else.

"Make no mistake, little filly. I can't stop you from doing that. But if you throw his lot with him, you are looking at an eternity of bondage… and that isn't a way for a pony to live."

He says all of that. He says all of that, and you believe him.

But in the end, Smiles can't move from his post. He can't move any more than Biedde can abandon his station. And the fact that the two Names are locked in their places on the board, and their players can't make any more moves, means that you get to choose.

So of course, Smiles offers you another alternative.

"But nothing would make me happier than to sucker you right out of Biedde's hoofs. Oh, I'm sure he knew this was a possibility, but he took the risk anyways," the stallion says with a jovial smile. "So, what do you say we make this blow up on his face?"



And to his offer, you decide to…



What will you do?



[] You will walk into the shadow, and into bondage.
-You will receive Sacrament from the Colonel, living Hour of Edge (and not from Biedde).
-Smiles will become an enemy of your faction. You will be unable to summon him (although you do not believe anypony else will ever learn how to summon him).
-Narratively, you will align yourself with the Colonel. Mechanically, nothing will change other than you receiving Sacrament. The Colonel will not suddenly start giving your orders, or pulling your strings, and your relationship with Biedde will remain unchanged.
-However, this option HAS A CHANCE TO "POISON" YOUR EPILOGUE. (This is the only "fair warning" you will receive from QM regarding this option. This is a "meta" warning, being offered out of an abundance of reasonableness, and Velvet Covers is not aware of it. Similar to the warning about the Master becoming an alicorn.)


[] You will take Smiles' offer.
-You will receive Sacrament from Smiles, the Name of Edge (and not from the Lionsmith. "You are too frail to meet my Lord! And don't worry, this won't hurt a bit.")
-Smiles will be immediately summoned in the place of Biedde, for free, as if he had been summoned at the beginning of Turn 23.
-Smiles may be Befriended, and finds deep humor in being (according to him) an objectively better choice than his corrival.
-Narratively, you will NOT align yourself with the Lionsmith, and Smiles specifically wishes for this option to be as tempting as possible, with as few strings attached as he can offer it with.
-However, Biedde will become an enemy of your faction. He will immediately un-summon himself, and will refuse future summons from your faction.


[] You will take the coward's way out.
-You will Wake, immediately.
-Biedde will not take offense to this, and you will be able to challenge him again at a later date. Smiles will not take offense to this either.
-You will NOT receive an Edge Sacrament at this moment, and you will continue your turn as normal.
-You will learn how to summon Smiles, and will be permitted to do so. Summoning Smiles, keeping Biedde summoned, or even having both summoned at the same time will not be considered as "joining" either of their sides in their conflict.
-You will also gain the action "Micromanage". (If Biedde and Smiles are summoned at the same time, you may use your social action or TWO follower actions to guarantee Smiles and Biedde will not meet during the turn.)





Jesus Christ that 49 overflow.

The dice were honest, but holy shit they took me for a ride as I wrote this. I write combat one thing at a time, rolling the dice and then writing the blurb until the next combat turn. So I thought he was going to fold you in half into a Dance with Death when I saw how close he was to double-wounding you on his next roll.

But uh… yeah. Anyways.

You have met Smiles, the (better, if you trust his yapping) Name of Edge.

Due to his natural honesty, and in an attempt to sway you, Smiles has revealed to you his entire character sheet.


And with that, you finally meet the last Name. The eight, and hardest to find, Name, meant to be the corrival of the other Edge Name, possible Edge Master betrayal option, and the fourth member of the "Change" faction in the Name Hotel, to counterbalance the four "Order" Names.

Twelve hours moratorium. I need to go sleep this off.